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yulon-drawn chariots and driving it off with stones from a catapult. But that
was all.
If the absence of the enemy helped keep the fleet in order, it didn't help the
mood of the sailors and soldiers aboard. Even the wildest optimists couldn't
help wondering if the Fishmen had really abandoned the struggle, or were just
lying in wait. After all, it made good sense for them to let the fleet sail as
far from its home waters as possible. Then they could more easily strike with
their full strength and destroy the fleet more easily. Mentioning this idea
out loud in so many words was of course discouraged. But that didn't keep it
from being the major topic of conversation whenever a few men got together in
private.
"They're out there somewhere," said Nezdorn. He waved one large hand toward
the dark sea as they both stood the midwatch aboard the flagship. "They've got
their eyes on us every minute. We're not going to get much farther without a
battle."
But incredibly, the fleet did. The sun rose over a calm, empty sea. Not a
breath of wind was stirring.
Every ship in the fleet sat in the water as though she had been glued in
place. Occasionally there would be a shout as a school of fish or one of the
great shark-like trinzan fishes broke the surface. But no sign of the Fishmen.
Stipors hoisted the signal for a council of war aboard the flagship. The flags
dropped limply from the signal halyards as scurrying small boats brought over
admirals and generals from the various lesser flagships. Stipors and his
subordinates vanished behind the great bronze-hinged doors of the flagship's
aft cabin. The fleet drifted aimlessly, the lookouts scanning the water for
any signs of the enemy.
Half the men on board each ship were on deck by order, and most of the rest
stayed on deck by choice. It was stiflingly hot below decks, and everyone felt
(although no one admitted) the fear of being trapped below decks.
Blade lifted his helmet and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat
collecting on his forehead. If the fleet stayed here much longer, the heat and
the fear were going to snap the men's nerves.
He looked over the side, deep down into the crystal water. Here it was even
clearer than usual. The bottom was clearly visible, even the ripples passing
through the purple and red masses of weeds that blotched the white or silvery
sand. At least if the Fishmen attacked, they would find it hard to attack by
surprise.
More weary hours passed. Blade began to wonder if the council of war and the
fleet would both sit until every man aboard sweated away or died of strain and
boredom.
Eventually the Guard commander came aft and called the men around him.
"Brothers," he said. "The council of war has chosen to strike. A thousand
picked underwater fighters will be loaded aboard the light vessels. These will
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proceed with their sweeps to the nearest area of
Fishman settlements. They will destroy those settlements, utterly and without
mercy, avenging our dead, asserting the supremacy and honor of the Sea Cities
of Talgar."
Blade suspected that the cheers which followed were more from relief
than from any positive enthusiasm for the idea.
Chapter EIGHT
«^»
Blade let go of the ladder and dropped backward, down into the crystal seas.
The water closed over him almost without a splash. He straightened out, shoved
himself away from the ship's bottom with its faint mustache of weed, and swam
down.
He had been under the crystal seas many times now and often with full war
gear. This was the first time he had plunged down into the blue-greenness
knowing that somewhere not too far away might lurk enemies. For a moment he
stopped and drifted downward, head first, searching the bottom as far as he
could see it. The weeds rippled gently, but nothing else moved. Blade raised
himself back to the vertical again with gentle movements of his fins.
One by one the rest of the ship's raiding company dropped into the water and
drifted down to float around Blade. Finally came Nezdorn, commanding the
company. With quick hand signals he formed the forty men into three lines, one
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